


Strawberry for 7 Galleons

by miramei



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, slytherin squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:49:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miramei/pseuds/miramei
Summary: When Evan Rosier dramatically throws open the heavy drapes around Regulus’s bed, Regulus decides that he’s on the market: for a new best friend.“Evan,” he says, opening one eye with great difficulty to squint at the dappled light filtering into the room through the lakewater, “what the fuck.”





	Strawberry for 7 Galleons

When Evan Rosier dramatically throws open the heavy drapes around Regulus’s bed, Regulus decides that he’s on the market: for a new best friend.

“Evan,” he says, opening one eye with great difficulty to squint at the dappled light filtering into the room through the lakewater, “what the fuck.”

“Desdemona Bane,” says Evan, like they’re in some surreal universe where that is an acceptable thing to say at arse-o’clock in the morning. No, _good mornin’ Reg!_ No, _sorry for the wake up, Reg!_ No, instead Regulus gets _Desdemona Bane!_

“Sod off,” Regulus says with feeling as he buries his face into his pillow, drawing a theatrical gasp from the other boy. They stay like that for several long moments: Regulus prone on the bed slowly suffocating himself with his pillow, Evan still holding the bed-curtains wide while looking 2 parts faux-offended and 3 parts expectant. Finally, Regulus lifts his head up to breathe. “What about Desdemona Bane?”

Evan takes that as his cue, flinging the curtains back and inviting himself onto Regulus’s bed. Regulus moves to prop himself up on his elbows as Evan wriggles into position next to him. “Heard you snogged her,” he says with a conspiratory grin, “in the alcove on the west wing, third floor.”

Regulus lets out an unimpressed huff. “Can’t keep anything from your hooligans,” he sniffs. “And of course it was in an alcove. I’m not going to kiss a girl in the middle of the hall. I have _class_.” He shoves the other boy with his shoulder when Evan snorts, just hard enough to put the threat of shoving him right off the bed out there.

“And how was it?” Evan asks, looking deeply invested in someone else’s date. “Must’ve been nice, yeah? Bane’s got really plump lips.”

Regulus stares blankly at his supposed best friend. “Did I just hear what I think I heard come out of your mouth,” he says flatly. “ _Plump lips._ Who the fuck even says that.” But even as he says that and Evan spreads his hands wide in a what-can-you-do gesture, he has to admit that yeah, Desdemona Bane certainly did have very plump lips. Very plump, very soft lips, which were perfectly suitable for pouting, which she did a lot to great effect.

He mirrors Evan’s movement. “Was nice,” he offers. “Quite soft. Strawberry flavored lip balm.” Evan shoots up with a victorious crow, and Regulus watches with a bemused look as he wrenches open the curtains (again).

“AVERY!” he shouts, to an answering _what the FUCK Rosier!?_ from two beds down, “cough it up; it was strawberry!” Regulus is putting the pieces together now, and his theory is only confirmed when Marcellus Avery explodes out of his bed, hair disheveled, looking outraged, and roaring that _Black obviously can’t tell his goddamn fruits apart!_

“I have an excellent sense of taste, in both the literal and figurative manner,” Regulus says coolly, while Evan parades triumphantly around the room, dancing just out of Avery’s twitching fingers. “It was strawberry. There was a lot of it.” Avery’s face turns an alarming shade of purple, but he passes the gold over to Evan anyway, who then gleefully goes around to the other beds demanding similar payment.

Evan collects a tidy sum of 7 galleons from the lip balm debacle, and is still preening when they go down to breakfast. Avery has since returned to a normal color, although he turns a brilliant shade of red when Regulus says, evenly, that he should really feel free to see if he could convince Desdemona Bane to show off any other flavors of lip balm she could own.

“Not up for a second date?” Evan asks as he butters up a piece of toast.

“Depends on what you're betting on,” Regulus replies evenly, even as he knows that there's no second date with Desdemona Bane. Evan laughs, loud and unattractive but bright.

Sirius Black strides into the Great Hall with his arm slung around James Potter’s shoulder. Three spots down, Snape’s expression turns mutinous at the sight, prompting a laugh from Mulciber and a warning that the milk was going to curdle. Snape, dependable as always, looks even more sullen. Down the table, Aria Reier tries to charm bubbles to float out of her pumpkin juice, expression concerned and wand movements wavering.

Evan contemplates an apple before taking a vicious bite out of the fruit. He looks thoughtful. “Heard Desdemona Bane also has excellent thighs,” he says, a little slyly. Avery snorts into his bacon.

“Ramona Spring. 10 galleons.”

Evan grins like Avery hadn't just dropped a large sum of money on some stupid bet with a girl none of them have a chance with. “Aight. Reg, confirm it for us.”

Regulus lazily flips him off. “Confirm it yourself. I will not have all my relationships be opportunities for you to make money.” Evan cries betrayal, which Regulus studiously ignores, just like he ignores Sirius’s steadfast glare on the back of his head.

Ten minutes later, he wishes he hadn't ignored the older Black when all the drinks up and down the Slytherin table erupt out of their containers, turning into menacing watery animals and wrecking havoc among the eggs. Aria yelps as a pumpkin juice dog eats her hard-charmed bubbles, and squeaks when Regulus shoves her into Esther Flint with a well-aimed pushing charm to avoid the rampaging juice. It hits a passing Ravenclaw, soaking their textbooks, and then, well… juice wasn't the only thing flying.

“I'm surrounded by menaces,” he sighs as he deflects a fleet of toast planes from the Hufflepuff table towards Mulciber, watching in mild disgust as the older boy grabs one out of the air and takes a vindictive bite out of the tail.

Evan laughs and launches grapes high into the sky to send them to the Gryffindors. “They can't give us _all_ detention!” he says cheerily as the grapes find their target. And true to his word, when McGonagall thunders in (just in time to stop the kippers from forming into a giant fishy monstrosity) she can't _prove_ that anyone in particular started this whole mess. She’s forced to dock 200 points from each house, looking deeply unsatisfied, and slaps the first four people whose faces twitch into grins with a week’s worth of detention.

Potter, unfortunately, is not among them.

Neither is Sirius Black.

“Go to class,” she says snippily, and suitably cowed, everyone goes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always here for Slytherins doing stupid teenage things before a psychopathic nose-less murder man ruins everything.


End file.
